


Manners

by mechanicalclock



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Study, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 08:57:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5779624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechanicalclock/pseuds/mechanicalclock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It’s not that hard to find a person astounding, not when you look at them right. Alluring qualities that they don’t recognize as such; interesting scars, a peculiar smile, specific curvature of their jaw, the way their hips move, reflexive gestures that they don’t put any though into. And so he observes and he appreciates, perfectly fine with never taking any step further. But if they want to let him closer, that’s when he celebrates them, wary for every smallest sensation and every smallest signal. That’s what he does: notices, listens, and learns. It’s as simple as that.</i>
</p><p>A spectrum of people who visited Iron Bull's chambers in Haven and Skyhold, including, but not focusing on, one mage from Tevinter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Manners

Of course, the first girl he visits in Haven has to be a redhead.

Her hair is a rich, untamed cloud of curls and her eyelashes and eyebrows are so fair they’re almost invisible. There are freckles all over her face, her shoulders, her arms and even her knuckles. He kisses each and every one of them and she smiles, her grey eyes shining.

Before Bull kisses her, she patches his wounds in the medical tent. He finds her astounding; but it’s not that hard to find a person astounding, not when you look at them right. Alluring qualities that they don’t recognize as such; interesting scars, a peculiar smile, specific curvature of their jaw, the way their hips move, reflexive gestures that they don’t put any though into. And so he observes and he appreciates, perfectly fine with never taking any step further. But if they want to let him closer, that’s when he celebrates them, wary for every smallest sensation and every smallest signal. That’s what he does: notices, listens, and learns. It’s as simple as that.

She seems to have noticed, and she seems to have thought more or less the same; she put the ointment on his wound and wrapped it in a clean cloth, joking it will make another neat scar for his collection.

“I like a man with a few good scars,” she says, a few crow feet in the corner of her eyes, her smile wide, front teeth in her lower jaw crooked. “It should heal well. You’ll be alright.”

“Thank you,” he says, smiling at her.

“You can thank me, indeed,” she eyes him, swaying that marvelous hair behind her shoulders. “If you’re not hurting too much, that is.”

“I’ve cut myself worse shaving,” he says, and she just huffs with laughter. She doesn’t beat around the bush and takes her shirt off through her head, nothing underneath it. She’s scattered with freckles everywhere. Everywhere.

“Ah, the redheads. Never disappointing,” he says before he leaves the tent, half-smile on his lips.

“Really? Are you saying we’re all the same?” she teases, tying back the ribbon in her shirt.

“Would you like me to tell you that you’re not?”

She considers. “No. I don’t care. Men are all the same, too. Just, some a bit better than the others, that for sure.”

Perhaps this was the best kind of compliment one could ever give to a person.

~*~

He didn’t find it in himself to care whether the person he was appreciating at the moment was a man, a woman, or someone else entirely, other than whatever care he needed to respect and cherish them. Still, for the reasons Bull understood all too well, it were mostly women who went through his bed.

Men were often tense and anxious – even if they wanted it really badly, even if they later clutched tightly to him, their nails pressing into his skin, begging for more – and it was different kind of nervousness than with women. With women, these were their own barriers and prejudices that were interfering, and if he saw they were too powerful for them to let themselves loose, he gave up, because they needed to figure things out on their own. With men, there were additional obstacles, often even more powerful, that came from the surroundings, and Bull could do nothing about it, other than try ease it up on them. In his own case, he’s never cared – but maybe that came in a package with never having anyone who could scold him.

That one man who arrives with Cullen’s soldiers right after they move to Skyhold makes an eye contact with him on the yard right after he enters the gate with the troops. He’s fatigued and covered in mud and blood, a bandage around his head, and he listens to his commander with only half of his attention, the other half focused on his surroundings, searching for something he could do here – someone he could do here, Bull would definitely say, if there was anyone who could hear – before he leaves once again; and who knows when, or if, he comes back. His eyes are seeking and wandering, the familiar look of ‘would I? will I?’, his gaze stopping on Bull’s muscles, Bull’s horns, a slight frown when it stops on his leg brace. 

Bull meets him in the tavern later, eyeing him at the counter; the man steps away from his people, half-smiling. There’s a scar running across his lips, similar to Cullen’s, but it’s healed much worse, red and deformed. Still, he’s quite handsome within humans’ beauty standards, broad shoulders, dark skin, attentive eyes.

They dance around each other like it always happens, flirting and pushing forward, but still pretending it’s casual, like they could stop any moment and act as if nothing was happening. There are two ways in which it could go. The man’s either going to let his eyes linger on him longer, and invite him to his chambers, or he’s going to start backing off, terrified with his own bluntness.

He doesn’t back off, instead, he’s quite certain of what he’s doing.

“You want to get out of here?” he asks Bull straightforwardly, eyes stern and decisive. “My men are watching, I’d much rather they weren’t.”

“I’m sure they would learn a thing or two,” Bull grins, and the man smiles in response, shaking his head lightly.

“You wouldn’t mind your men watching?”

“I think they would be the first to protest,” Bull shrugs.

The man is still shaking his head. “Ah, mercenaries. So open-minded. I reckon the soldiers are too busy cultivating their sense of pride and honor to let this slip so easily.”

Bull frowns. “You think that what you’re doing stands against pride and honor?”

The man smiles, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

Bull knows. He meant just that.

“And you’re not going to… brag?” the man makes sure, glancing at Bull as they’re getting up from their chairs. “I’ve heard a rumor or two. That you don’t exactly keep things to yourself.”

“Who did you hear that rumor from?”

“That man there,” the man waves his hand in the generic direction behind them. “The one with those clothes, and the… mustache.”

Bull snorts. Of course.

“I know when to keep my mouth shut,” he says. “You’d be surprised how good I am with that.”

The man’s loud, demanding and opened for experiments. He’s used to this, getting what he wants and then leaving, and Bull is more than happy to give it to him, to meet him where he wants to be met, and leave some good memories for later.

He’s gone by the morning, they always are, before everyone else wakes up and notices they weren’t sleeping where they were supposed to. The truth is, they always notice, but as long as you at least pretend you want to keep your business a secret, they don’t interfere, mostly for their own convenience.

“Was it general Morris in your room last night?” Adaar asks him at the yard later.

Bull crosses his arms on his chest. “Why does it suddenly bother you who was in my chambers last night, Boss?”

Adaar raises her eyebrow. ”I thought you were taking care to keep everyone updated. And my question was rhetorical. I’ve seen you both entering your chambers in the evening. What can I say, I hope it was a good one.”

“Yup,” Bull confirms, his lips stretching with a smile. “Really good stamina, that guy. True soldier. On the other hand, Boss, you’re a true leader. Good eye for detail. But, I’d appreciate if you kept your observations to yourself. He asked to keep things discreet. Your silence will be good for the morale, et cetera.”

Adaar barks a laugh and pats him on the shoulder without spare gentleness. “But of course. I’m not fishing for rumors. I just wanted to check if I still have a good eye for noticing, hm, when my companions choose the company of people of their own affiliations. One could say I’m keeping track.”

Bull grins. “Yep, you still got it, Boss. It’s always good to know what you’re standing on. Taking care of your own kind and all.”

Adaar smiles. “Took me long to figure out in your case, though. I thought you were, you know, joking.”

Bull glances at her. “Hey. I do not talk lightly of those things. I’m not that kind of guy.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

~*~

The woman with black hair combed in a loose, thick braid, and strong arms with perfect, round shoulders often flirts back at him when he comes by to talk with the kitchen staff, even though she blushes scarlet and is too flustered too look him directly in the eye. He’s clear about what he wants, but he doesn’t push her. If she comes around, then she will.

One evening, before her day off, she drops by to the tavern and has two drinks too many. She’s much more self-assured and much more straight-forward than usual; she leaves her friends and approaches Bull. She’s flirty and sensual with a very direct goal in mind, but he knows this confidence is one that will fade in the morning, and that if she woke up in his bed, she’d be right back at blushing and stuttering, and it’s not how he wants people to feel about him.

He tells her just that when she drags him out of the tavern, trying to invite him to her room.

“But I’ve just told you I was inviting you,” the woman frowns. “Don’t worry. It’s just one night.”

“I know,” he nods. “But I don’t want it to be that one night you regret. I’m much too good to make a bad memory.”

“Oh, I’m sure of that.”

“Hey,” Bull smiles at her. “If you still want it tomorrow, come to me, and I will do everything you need to you. Today, you should go to sleep.”

She complies; he walks her to her chambers and they split with just a goodbye. He comes back to the tavern, where Dorian welcomes him with an exaggerated gasp of shock.  
“Are my eyes deceiving me?” he asks, leaning towards him from his place at the table, much more drunk that the woman Bull just left in her chambers. “Back so early? Did the Iron Bull really say ‘no’ to someone? Oh, I can’t contain my astonishment!”

“This really surprised you that much?” Bull asks sternly. This is not a subject that leaves room for joking.

Dorian seems to have deflated, visibly confused Bull didn’t respond with a snarky joke like he’s used to.

“No, I’m not, actually,” he mumbles, his eyes avoiding Bull’s. “I shouldn’t have questioned your… decency.”

“Hey, big guy,” Bull shoots him a smile, “I’m flattered, but don’t give me too much credit.”

~*~

They corner him by the tavern, determined looks on their faces, arms crossed on their chests. He knows them; they are medics, quite good, skilled with herbal medicines.  
She is a tall human woman with heavy eyelids and pouty lips, hair cropped short like a soldier. He is a dwarven man, black hair in a braid, short beard, eyes light blue. He’s missing his left hand, a cheap prosthetic in its place.

“I get it,” Bull says, lazy smile on his lips. “you want to ride the Bull. Simultaneously, if I’m not mistaken?”

The woman grins. “Yes, Iron Bull. We do. Are the legends about you true? Will you do that?”

“Whoa, slow down a bit,” Bull makes a defensive gesture. “Or you’ll make me blush. You can’t just rush into this like that. You’re spoiling all the fun.”

“We want to get to the fun,” the man says impatiently. “So, is it a yes, or a no?”

“I’m flattered,” Bull responds, “but as I said, let’s talk first. You can buy me a drink.”

“A drink?” the woman raises her eyebrow.

“Yes, a drink. And we can chat. Get to know each other. You see,” he eyes them with a long gaze, aware of the effect it has on them, “it’s all part of the deal. Good long chat has never harmed anyone. If you just jump on people like rabbits, half of the pleasure is lost on you already.”

“But…”

“Hey,” he says, looking at them from the considerable height he has over them. “I don’t just screw people. If you just want to get down to business, then you might just as well do it on your own, without other participants.”

They are silent for a moment, then the woman nods.

“Okay. Bring it on.”

They do go to the tavern, and they buy him a drink; then they move to his chambers. By that time, he knows what they want and what they need, and what he has to avoid; he knows where to tease them, where to strike and where to caress. It takes hours and they are exhausted later, panting and covered in sweat, and telling him that, yes, it was the best night of their life. He’s heard that a lot; he believes the credit’s only partially his, because it’s mostly the fault of other people always being in a rush, as if brining one another to completion was all there was to it. It was just a small part, and, if he dared say, not the most significant one. Not the one you bear in your memory later.

~*~

The waitress at the tavern watches him with curiosity, and he has to admit she’s easy on the eye, more than easy. She has long, blond hair, big eyes, and breasts almost popping from her shirt – he couldn’t not notice that. He likes to observe her working, but so does Krem; that’s why he doesn’t make a move, of course he doesn’t, not until Krem gets together with that medic friend of the Boss, and gives him his blessing.

“I give you my blessing, Chief,” Krem smirks, pointing at the waitress with his chin. “She clearly wants herself some qunari.”

“As if you could even grant a blessing with that blasphemous mouth of yours,” Bull snorts. “Besides, who gave you an idea you had any say in my sex life? I do what I please anyway.”

“That’s good, Chief, but I knew you were waiting,” Krem says. “So I’m telling you to go for it, and we can pretend it wasn’t me who prompted that.”

So he does go for it, and he doesn’t regret it. She meets him right in the middle and she is always full of smiles afterwards. She openly greets him at the tavern and she says he helps her relax. She’s the first person in Skyhold to come to his chambers for the third time, and they agreed it was an arrangement that worked for now, but nobody will mourn if it finishes.

It lasts roughly two months, and then she says she simply doesn’t wish to carry on. Nice two months nevertheless.

“Ah, Bull, cheers and respect!” shouts Sera one time when they’re walking around Hinterlands, colleting herbs and avoiding bears, soon after the waitress went to bed with him for the first time – well, it wasn’t as much a bed, as it was a table in the tavern after she closed up, but he didn’t tell it to anyone. “You tupped that waitress, you minx! Well, someone had to!”

“Jealous?” Bull asks, leaning for a forgotten elf root by the tree.

“Well, sure thing I am!” Sera says confidently. “She is really…” she gesticulates broadly, making squeezing gestures with her hands. “Gifted. You know. I mean that she has huge tits.”

“We know what you meant, Sera,” says the Inquisitor in a scolding tone. “Show the girl some respect.”

“She’d be flattered, actually,” Bull says, grinning. “She’s very proud of them.”

“You see, Inquisitor,” Sera says, “not every girl likes all that flowers, chocolate and holding hands shite. It’s just you and your lady Ambassador who can’t wait to say ‘yes’ on the altar, and then go to sleep at nine every night in the same bed.”

“Stop, Sera, you’re giving me chills,” Bull laughs.

He catches a glimpse of Dorian, who’s keeping good three steps behind them. He’s not saying anything, just listening; not as much uncomfortable, as unused. Unused to people discussing romance so openly – or, no - discussing romance that wasn’t between a man and a woman so openly. Bull’s noticed that almost right way, after the first one of them blurted something like that out with Dorian around. Dorian didn’t mind people close to him knowing about his preferences, but he froze whenever it was brought to discussion, as if it was a dangerous subject; Bull knew it used to be, though, so he couldn’t possibly blame or shame him for letting his instincts act up. He knew a thing or two about it.

~*~

“You want me to buy you a drink, huh?” Bull asks the elven man leaning against the counter. The man turns around, his eyes darting where he was expecting to meet the eyes of a regular-sized person; then his gaze wanders up, finally meeting Bull’s. He smiles, just a bit slyly – a good sign.

“Nah, I’m good. Lady Nightingale was generous today,” he says mockingly, still eyeing Bull with very visible pleasure. “So you don’t have to buy me anything. But, by all means, you can stay around.”

“Good,” Bull leans against the counter right next to him. “Just how generous was she, then? Because I am not exactly flowing with cash.”

The man snorts. “Just enough to give you what you need.”

Bull grins at that ridiculously forward joke that even he wouldn’t be ashamed of. The man does not disappoint. He’s determined and knows what he wants, aiming straight for his goal.

At some point, he leans in and kisses Bull; a full-mouth, wet kiss in the middle of the tavern, his hand on the nape of Bull’s neck, pulling him closer.

Bull breaks the kiss, surprised.

“You’re in that much of a rush?”

The man shrugs. “What? Are you backing off or something?”

Bull considers for just a brief second. “No. Still, I’d say, ‘don’t do this again’, if I actually believed we were to meet again after tonight.”

The man smiles. “Noted. Didn’t think you’d be scared, though.”

Bull snorts. “Calm down, little guy. I’m not scared. I just don’t bring these things to the public.”

They go to Bull’s chambers and Bull makes him choke on Bull’s name when he’s coming, calling the names of all the elven gods in addition. He asks him if he could spend the night, ‘not because he secretly wants a shot of domesticity, but because he has literally nowhere to go.’

“It was all quite… normal, wasn’t it?” the guy asks, rolling on his side. “It was good, of course, even spectacular in places but nevertheless, normal.”

“What were you expecting?” Bull raises his eyebrows.

The man shrugs. “I don’t know. Something that would blow my mind. For example, I’m quite surprised you have a completely regular…” the man waves his hand in an unclear gesture.

“Completely regular, what?”

“Cock,” the guy grins. “I thought it would be… I don’t know what I thought. But I certainly did not expect it to be so unsurprising.”

“I wouldn’t say it was unsurprising.”

“You’re right. Poor choice of words. But you know what I mean.”

Bull snorts. “Here we are. Another person who was thinking about my horns a little too much in their lonely moments and got their hopes up about some animalistic fetish bullshit. Where’s your basic biological knowledge? Quite lame for a spy.”

The man snorts. “Perhaps I believed what I wanted to believe. You’re quite… famous around here. Everyone was curious. Actually, about that kiss at the tavern.”

“What about it?”

“It was because I made a bet with my friends,” the man explains, pride written all over his face. “I’m surprised you didn’t realize. Quite lame for an ex-spy, Iron Bull. No hard feelings, though, yes?”

“Please,” Bull eyes him with pity. “I noticed right away. But what does it change? Bet as much as you want. You wanted that, and it was a good one. That’s all that matters.”  
“Oh, it was a good one. May I ask… Is there a chance we could repeat it, ever?”

“I already told you ‘no’,” Bull answers right ahead. “Don’t take it personally. But you still have tonight to dispose of. Use it wisely.”

~*~

In one of the castles they’ve conquered, he meets a qunari girl. Well, not a qunari – a Tal Vashoth. Just like he was Tal Vashoth, he needs to remind himself, more often than he would like to.

She’s younger than him, almost his height, higher than the Inquisitor, but quite lean, unused to fighting. Back at home, she must have been responsible for the simpler task, not concerned about politics, the sword too heavy in her hand, her moves not cautious enough for Ben Hassrath. 

She flocks to him, asks him warily if he is a qunari. When she finds out he’s Tal Vashoth, she opens up, thirsty for sharing her experience with someone. He can’t quite give it to her – he’s been out for too long, even when he was in, he was still out in a sense, qun giving him a sense of community, but not restricting him - best of both worlds, he could say.

He doesn’t say it. She’s ecstatic with her newly found freedom that she chose all by herself. Much braver than him, and much more idealistic. She says she ran away to join the Inquisition. She says she believes that the Inquisitor being one of them will enable her to lead a good life outside of the qun later on. She says that maybe, just maybe the Inquisitor will be an inspiration for the Saarebas to rebel. That latter one, Bull notices, she doesn’t really believe – she just wishes she did.

At first he’s not sure if the signals she sends mean she wants physical intimacy as well, but she soon lets him now she does want that, and that she wants it bad; they have sex at the meadow, the place obviously not the most comfortable and too overrated, but there was nowhere else to go. She’s thirsty for this, the contact that’s not policed, and she’s been thirsty for someone who understands how it feels to be out.

“Have you ever been sent for breeding?” she asks, lying next to him, naked in the light breeze, reflexes of light on her dark-gray skin, much darker than Bull’s, almost coal black.

“Yes,” he answers. He doesn’t like those memories. Empty rooms, guards standing right outside, everything quick, almost mathematical. His completion was forced; they never came. Avoidance of eye contact, attempts to mask any other feelings with sense of duty.

“I haven’t,” she says. “That’s partially why I left. I couldn’t. It’s not right.”

“It’s not,” he agrees.

“It’s not how it should be done,” she continues. “Even when it wasn’t for breeding… It was all so… It was like talking care of business. The fact they didn’t let us to… That we weren’t allowed to remember the names.”

She stops for a second, her fingers lingering on Bull’s chest. “I’ve always remembered names. That’s why I left.”

He kisses her fingertips; she smiles lightly.

“You’re not like that. You’re… attentive. You know how to cherish the moment.”

“I’ve been out for a long time,” he explains. 

She nods with consideration. “Perhaps that’s why. But the memory stays with you somehow, doesn’t it? Makes you want to let them know you care. Even if it’s just for an afternoon.”

“Well, you certainly do it well,” he smiles at her, “and I hope you weren’t disappointed with me, either.”

“Oh, what a false modesty.”

“You’re right,” he admits. “I am convinced you were satisfied. No girl can fake an orgasm like that.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised.”

She wasn’t faking, neither for the second time, nor the third.

~*~

The first time they do it, they’re drunk. The evening turns into this weird competition - who can drink more, who can push forward more, whose jokes are going to be more stinging, more suggestive, and more on the verge between a joke, and an awkwardly expressed desire. So everyone leaves the tavern, and he drags Bull out by his belt, kissing him right by the wall of the building, the hard bricks uncomfortable by Bull’s back. He’s ready to drop on his knees right there, but Bull has at least that much self-control to lead him to his chamber.

It wasn’t how it should have happened, but it happened, and there was nothing that could be done about it. He thought he shouldn’t have let it be that way, but then again, he wasn’t responsible for him, he wasn’t the only one who ought to feel responsible. He had to remember it more often.

It was only obvious that was going to happen sooner or later, what with him always ready to pick up a fight, and Bull always right there to let him do that, to rile him up, drag him to the edge, and then laugh and leave him boiling and angry. He was angry so often – with the Bull, with the Inquisitor, the Inquisition, the tailors, the tavern owners, his fellow ‘vints, his father, finally himself. Under fifteen layers of shiny decorations, there were fifteen more of fury, self-loathing and insecurity. Perhaps Bull thought than when he burns the fury out, he’s going to get rid of it for good, no matter what the fury was directed at. Perhaps it was silly to think so.

That’s why he shouldn’t have made those comments the next day, loud, rude remarks letting everyone know he spent the night at his chambers. He regretted it right after he said it and noticed him clutching tightly at his staff, teeth clenched and eyes glued to the path in front of him. He wasn’t the person to be thrown into the deep waters and be expected to swim; he was to be worked with carefully and patiently, so that he knew he wasn’t going to suddenly be left hanging. Bull knew all of that; he didn’t use to be a spy just for his good looks. Still, he did what he did. He wasn’t sure if it was good enough of an excuse, but the reason for it was that he wanted to check if he didn’t regret it, and if he wasn’t ashamed. Or how strong those emotions were, for the time being. All in all, it was ever the crucial part.

Fortunately, working through all of the discomfort he had built up, he said he was going to come back, and that was enough. It gave Bull time to make sure he wasn’t being coercive, to fix what he could have messed up, and, most importantly, to see if what was driving him to visit Bull in his bedroom was the right reasons, or quite the other way around.

That evening, he came to his chambers sober, angry, and determined. Bull asked him three times if he was certain. He said that he wasn’t a child and the only thing he wanted was for Bull to shut up, and maybe stop blabbering about it to everyone. He needed time to think. In his free time, he said, because now, he needed Bull to make him, well, not think, for a while.

That evening he broke a buckle of the belt in his fancy sleeve and set Bull’s curtains on fire.

So, Dorian. Dorian’s perfect moustache is ruined when he wakes up in the morning, or when he goes down on him; he adjusts them meticulously right away. Dorian takes an hour-long bath every evening, casting a spell on a book so that he could read it and it didn’t get wet. Dorian applies eyeliner every single morning, so skillful that each line takes him less than a second. Dorian only curses in Tevene when he isn’t really angry.

He isn’t different than the others – what would that even mean?

“How many people were in your bed before me?” Dorian asks one evening, rolling on his side and glancing at Bull with curiosity.

“Not sure if ‘bed’ is the word you want to use.”

“Fine,” Dorian rolls his eyes. “How many people have you fucked? There. Was this question phrased better for your liking?”

“Much,” Bull confirms. “But I’m not going to answer.”

“Because you lost track?”

“Never,” Bull says, and it’s true. “It’s because it doesn’t matter.”

“Probably as many as you’re going to fuck after me, right?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. What do you want to hear, Dorian?”

“I don’t know,” Dorian sighs. “I don’t think I want to hear something particular. I’m just used to hearing… something. Around that time, more or less.”

“Around the time a guy had to change his drapes three times already because you’re a shitty mage with no self-control who’s just waiting for a demon to pop out of him?”

“Yes, exactly. You’re speaking my mind.”

“We’ll see after you burn them nice, round five times, hm?”

**Author's Note:**

> There were things that bugged me about how the game portrayed Bull and Dorian's relationship, mainly the Bull's complete lack of respect towards Dorian's wishes & privacy. Especially because there's a huge contrast between how the Bull talks to Dorian, and how he talks to the Inquisitor if he's in a relationship with either of them. So I attempted to spend some time giving the Iron Bull and his relationships (?) the backstory they lacked, hoping to fix things for myself at least a little bit.


End file.
